


Things My Heart Used to Know

by Nightwing11



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: (not a ton and mostly after the fact so not very graphic at all but please be careful), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Cryofreeze (Marvel), Depression, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, M/M, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightwing11/pseuds/Nightwing11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where soulmates can communicate telepathically with their partners, Steve Rogers has always had Bucky Barnes with him, a calming voice in a sea of turmoil. And, when Bucky falls off the train during World War II, Steve experiences deafening silence for the first time. </p><p>Now, after crashing a plane in the Arctic to save the world and being frozen for 70 years, Steve’s still trying to figure out how to live without Bucky there. His new friends are trying to help him adjust, to move on. And he thought he was doing better, he really did.</p><p>So, why is he suddenly hearing Bucky’s voice again? </p><p>(Since this is part of the Stucky Big Bang 2016, there's fantastic artwork to accompany this. Check out this amazing piece by the super talented Jessie Lucid <a href="http://lucidnancyboy.tumblr.com/post/149600206724/the-link-by-jessie-lucid-drawing-for-the-stucky">on Tumblr</a> and <a href="http://www.instagram.com/p/BJp0c2cAme1/?taken-by=jessielucidart">on Instagram</a> .)</p><p>Now with more beautiful <a href="http://cloudychocobo.deviantart.com/art/Red-Thread-631242611?ga_submit_new=10%253A1472470546">art</a> from the wonderfully talented <a href="http://xcloudychocobo.tumblr.com/">xcloudychocobo</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things My Heart Used to Know

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Soulmate AU, in which characters can communicate telepathically. To make things run a little smoother, I've selected different fonts for Steve and Bucky. Steve's communication over the bond is underlined while Bucky's is in italics. 
> 
> I've tried to be extensive in my tags, but if I've missed anything, please please let me know. The last thing I want to do is trigger anyone. 
> 
> ALSO! As this is part of the Stucky Big Bang 2016, there's fantastic artwork to accompany this. Check out this amazing artwork by the super talented Jessie Lucid [on Tumblr](http://lucidnancyboy.tumblr.com/post/149600206724/the-link-by-jessie-lucid-drawing-for-the-stucky) and [on Instagram](http://www.instagram.com/p/BJp0c2cAme1/?taken-by=jessielucidart) .
> 
> AND now with [art](http://cloudychocobo.deviantart.com/art/Red-Thread-631242611?ga_submit_new=10%253A1472470546) from the wonderfully talented [xcloudychocobo](http://xcloudychocobo.tumblr.com/). Make sure you check it out too!
> 
> (Yes, I know. I freaked out too when I saw how amazing both these pieces looked. Like, holy shit!)
> 
> And, as always, a big shout out to my incredible beta reader and friend, floatingkhoshekfloats, for staying with me through this long Big Bang journey and for encouraging me to add Carol Danvers.
> 
> I own none of these characters. Title taken from "Once Upon a December."

Steve had always said “even when he had nothing, he had Bucky.”

 

And that, that was so true.

 

Steven Grant Rogers met James Buchanan Barnes when he was eight, after the older boy had come to his aid against a group of bullies.

 

After chasing the tormentors off, Bucky had gone to help Steve up, causing the younger boy to scowl at him.

 

“I didn’t need any help!” he had growled in his head, though he, of course didn’t voice it for fear of being rude..

 

However, that hadn’t stopped the other boy’s face from hardening. “Well, see if I try to help you again, tough guy!”

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Steve yelled back.

 

“Yeah, you did, you said…”

 

And they both froze, because they knew the stories, everyone did.

 

Soulmates. Your other half. The part of you that you didn’t even realize was missing until they stumbled into your life. That, from the moment you found them, you’d never truly be alone. That you could communicate telepathically, projecting across miles and miles so the other was always within reach.

 

Bucky had broken into a wide, warm smile, slinging his arm over Steve’s shoulder, telling him they were going to be the best soulmates in the world.

 

Steve was too young to understand why his mother had panicked, scolding the boys, frantically telling them they could tell no one about being the other’s soulmate.

 

After Bucky had left, Steve had cried, thinking his mother was angry at him, that he had done something wrong. But Sarah had merely pulled him into her arms, telling him that she loved him, that she already loved Bucky because she knew he would make Steve so, so happy.

 

But the world didn’t care about Steve’s happiness. Didn’t care about the irrefutable proof that Steve and Bucky belonged together. They only cared about their own, narrow view of how things should be, rejecting - even attacking - anything that was different. And two boys loving each other? Well, that was too different for their bigoted minds to understand.

 

So, Steve and Bucky did as they were told, acting as though they were nothing more than best friends to the world at large.

 

Bucky’s voice became a constant throughout every struggle: When Steve had nightmares about his mother or was on the brink of an asthma attack, Bucky’s voice was in his head calming down. When he had been cornered in back alley’s, Bucky’s (frantic) voice was in his head, both cursing Steve for getting into _another_ fight and promising he’d be there soon, all the while sending encouragements and instructions _Keep your hands up, Stevie. Don’t let them hit that pretty face of yours_.

 

And, Bucky’s was in Steve’s head during their years apart while the brunet was at war, constantly whispering promises of how they’d be together after everything.

 

That’s why Steve had vowed to find the 107th. And how he had screamed at Bucky for blocking the majority of their telepathic communication and not telling Steve that he had been captured. Bucky claimed he just hadn’t wanted the last conversation he had with Steve to be so damn bleak.

 

And, Bucky had screamed right back, of course. Demanding answers from Steve about the experiment and why he didn’t tell him and how he could be so damn stupid as to trek behind enemy lines _by himself_ to find Bucky.

 

It had taken both of them a long time to get over the other keeping secrets - though it hadn’t stopped them from crawling into the cot together that night, clinging to each other like magnets.

 

And later, as Bucky finally started to face and accept what he’d been put through, he would have nightmares that led to panic attacks - attacks during which Bucky couldn’t control what he sent through the link - letting Steve hear all the panicked thoughts and painful memories he’d much rather shield the blond from.

 

If they were alone, Steve would hold Bucky through them - sending words of comfort and love across the link, hoping his voice would be enough to calm his soulmate down.

 

They tried to hide it, but it was hard to explain how Steve had known exactly where to find Bucky during missions. Or how Bucky had known after a building collapsed with Steve inside that the Captain was alive and had broken his leg before they had even reached the debris.

 

The Commandos never said anything, but they knew. And decided quietly amongst themselves that they would protect their Captain and Sergeant’s secret to the grave.

 

Well, they planned to never say anything. Until Bucky was cornered by enemy forces, injured and away from his squadron for four days, trying desperately to stay hidden until Steve and the Commandos found him.

 

When they did, Steve was jittery and anxious, hands clinched into fists at his side to keep from grabbing Bucky and pulling him tight against his chest, kissing him until they both believed the brunet was safe.

 

The struggle of meeting his soulmate’s needs versus the need to keep their secret must have been clear on Bucky’s face, because Dum Dum merely rolled his eyes, muttering “Sarge, if you don’t kiss your man, I’m going to do it for you.”

 

And with that, Steve and Bucky were finally able to let people know who they were to one another. To hold hands, to kiss without concern of what others would think. The Commandos were more than supportive, teasing the two endlessly for being “giant saps.”

 

* * *

 

After the train, Peggy found Steve in the same bar he had spent his last night of happiness with Bucky, though it was now burnt and bombed out, left in tatters just like the Captain.

 

“Bucky wouldn’t want you to live this way, Steve. He’d want you to carry on.”

 

Steve had let out a sob reigning it in before it got out of control, though his hands and shoulders continued to tremble. “He wasn’t just. We were-”

 

Peggy nodded. Of course she knew about Steve and Bucky. The silent conversations, the longing looks, the fidgeting hands that seemed to be fighting to stay at the owner’s side and not reach out and grab the other.

 

Bucky was Steve’s other half. And Peggy couldn’t imagine the pain her friend was suffering at the moment.

 

“I know,” she spoke quietly, cutting off Steve’s choked words.

 

And the fact that she knew gave Steve the permission he needed to cry, to grief his soulmate properly.

 

He broke down, loud, earnest sobs echoing through the gutted building.

 

Peggy rushed forward, pulling the man into a tight hug, speaking soft, soothing words.

 

Though she herself had to blink back tears when Steve whispered. “It’s so quiet, Peggy. It’s so quiet.”

 

* * *

 

Steve hadn’t planned on putting the plane down in the Arctic, he really hadn’t. But he wouldn’t say there was some small piece of relief that flooded his system at the idea of ending the silence, of no longer being forced to endure quiet day after quiet day. Of having to fall asleep to the noise of the war rather than Bucky’s comforting voice in his head.

 

“This is my choice, Peggy.” He had spoken into the com, trying to ignore how his heart broke as her voice cracked. “Can you just...will you keep talking to me? Please?”

 

So, Peggy spoke of them going dancing, of them winning the war. But, for the brief minutes, she talked mostly of Bucky and how Steve was going to get to see him again. And to tell the brunet to take care of Steve for her.

 

All the while, Steve spoke through the bond, whispering assurance to Bucky, desperate to both hear his departed love speak again and to combat the fear and anxiety at the thought of crashing his plane and drowning in unforgiving, frigid water.

 

Right before impact, he closed his eyes, picturing Bucky’s beautiful face as he reached across the divide one last time.  I’ll be there soon, Buck. I’ll be there soon. 

* * *

 

Steve didn’t get the rest he had hoped for. He didn’t wake up in the afterlife with Bucky curled around him like he had prayed he would when the icy water was rushing in, slamming against his body and forcing its way down his throat.

 

Instead he woke up, in an unfamiliar room that was trying too hard to be familiar. So, naturally, he fought to escape. It was only when a large, bald man with an eyepatch, flanked by dozens of agents, cornered him that he finally stopped running.

 

He learned he’d been asleep for 70 years. That Peggy had Alzheimer's and likely wouldn’t remember him. That the Commandos had all passed. That Bucky Barnes had been dead for 70 years. And Steve had no idea how the world had kept spinning without that beautiful soul in it.

 

Steve quickly understood the stories about surviving soulmates having breaks in their sanity after losing their other half. The silence, the deafening silence, was heavy and deep, like an anchor dragging Steve to the bottom of an ocean of grief and guilt.

 

He quickly got caught up on technology, buying iPods and stereos and surround sound for his TV, anything to combat the silence that was slowly eating away at him.

 

Steve bought a little studio apartment in Brooklyn, not wanting anything bigger, knowing how empty it would feel. He went running on a daily basis, sprinting and training himself into exhaustion so he could sleep.

 

During one of these runs, he met Sam Wilson, a former Pararescue who lived in Harlem, working at the local VA and with at-risk youth. The two became quick friends, hitting it off and meeting for runs. (And later, he found out that Sam was, in fact, the superhero “The Falcon” that protected Harlem, because of course Steve couldn’t make civilian friends.)

 

During the Chitauri invasion, Steve and Sam team up with Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, James Rhodes, Bruce Banner, Carol Danvers, and Thor.

 

And while the team was great (for the most part. Tony could be obnoxious and if Clint spilt the coffee one more time, Steve was gonna lose his damn mind - but they were good people) and Steve slowly felt less and less alone. If nothing else, the excessive volume the team kept themselves at helped combat the quiet.

 

But, there was still a giant hole in his heart and the quiet - after missions when he was alone - was still so, so weighted.

* * *

 

Steve was sitting on the cold ground, his back propped up against the tiny gravestone (and how _fucking dare_ they honor Steve with a giant statue, a monument to his sacrifice, while they gave Bucky such a small, impersonal stone. Like Bucky was somehow worth less than Steve. Like they didn’t know that Bucky Barnes was worth a hundred Steve Rogers.)

 

Steve glared at the empty bottle of Jim Bean that sat beside him, offended that the alcohol did nothing to numb the ache, the hollowness, that had lodged itself into his chest since Bucky had fallen off that godforsaken train.

 

He sat there, eyes wet and puffy, not even bothering to hide the tears that continued to fall down his cheeks.

 

Steve leaned his head back, hitting it against the tombstone as he looked up at the night sky.

 

Hey Bucky. For the first time that century, Steve attempted his psychic link. He knew it would do no good, that Bucky was dead and gone (his body left decaying at the bottom of a ravine thanks to Steve’s ineptness.)

 

But, the link, though useless, felt more natural to Steve than talking to a grave. Wherever Bucky was, waiting for Steve at the end of the line, they were still soulmates, so why not.

 

I don’t - I’m sorry I haven’t come to talk to you, but it’s just so fucking _hard._ This new century is weird and different - but, god, Buck, you’d love it. The flashy clothes and loud music and the _acceptance_ . 

 

Steve let out a loud exhale.  You should be here. I should have protected you. I should have kept you safe, but you hit the end of the line, and I’m not there. Though Steve thought he had cried himself dry, the tears started anew. And I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. 

 

Steve kept up the internal mantra, repeating his apologies, knowing that Bucky couldn’t hear him, but praying that it would somehow lighten this crushing grief and guilt he had been burdened with.

 

_Stevie?_

 

Steve froze, head shooting up as he looked around frantically.

 

Buck? Even as he repeated the name in his mind, he knew he had imagined it. That the soothing voice was merely a figment of his imagination having run wild, taunting his already frail heart with a hope that didn’t exist.

 

However, as much as he _knew_ he was imagining things, it didn’t protect his heart from breaking as he heard the shattered and cracked quality of Bucky’s words.

 

_No, no no no. This isn’t real, this is HYDRA. Fuck, HYDRA still…fuck. Steve’s dead. You let him die. You weren’t there, and then you... fuck. Fuck!_

 

Bucky.  Steve knew that indulging in this figment of his imagination, that giving into this fantasy, even for a brief time, would add hours to the therapy sessions Sam demanded he go to. But, Steve would never, ever, be able to abandon a Bucky that was so obviously in distress, consequences be damned.  I crashed,  (and how Steve tried to keep the pain of that memory from leaking into the word)  but I didn’t die. I was frozen for 70 years, basically asleep in a giant chunk of ice. They found me and thawed me out a few months back.   

 

 _You don’t have a soulmate!_ And Steve hated his mind for remembering this Bucky. A Bucky that was so agitated and terrified after being saved from Zola’s prison back in the 40s that he had panic attacks - attacks during which he projected everything across their bond, not just what he intended. _You left Steve to die. Even if he was alive, he wouldn’t want you anymore._

 

Hey.  Steve interjected sternly, the more logical part of his brain scolding him for arguing with a fucking imaginary voice (maybe Sam was right about him not missing therapy after all).  I’ve always loved you, Bucky. End of the line, right? Nothing’s going to change that. 

 

 _Steve would hate me, what I’ve done._ Bucky took a loud, harsh breath, before he started screaming. Loud, vicious, terrified.

 

Steve tried to gain the man’s (voice, Steve, it’s just a fucking voice) attention, but his screams continued and Steve could only hope they were only internal or else the man’s throat would be near raw at this point (no, it wouldn’t, Steve, he’s fucking dead. Dead men can’t get sore throats. Stop this.)

 

Steve could feel Bucky's screams (It’s not Bucky, Steve!) resounding across their bond, ricocheting around his head as forcefully as a bullet.

 

But Bucky's words were nearly indecipherable. Steve could feel the panic though, the pain, and his arm, something about his arm. It was wrong. Metal.

 

Steve was about to speak again when the panic coming across the bond spiked and Bucky barely managed to get out a _please, no, not -_

 

Silence enveloped Steve once more, all the more crushing, like the story of Tantalus, suspended above the thing he desired most, so close, able to hear and see the water flowing beneath him as he withered away with his thirst, though the end would never come for him.

 

Steve sat, numb and wary of what had just transpired in his own head. And why, after months of grieving and mourning and missing Bucky so much it ached, was he now having a psychological break?

 

Steve remained sitting against the gravestone for a good, long time, trying to absorb and move past what had just happened.

 

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes, threatening to burst forth with free reign.

 

Rather than let them fall, however, Steve pushed himself off the ground and headed toward his bike. His tears had never solved anything, never helped him, and they weren’t about to start now.

 

* * *

 

The fifth punching bag went flying across the room, sand spilling out of its split side as Rage Against the Machine blared from Steve’s tablet. He sighed, leaning against the nearby wall for a moment to catch his breath, before grabbing the next bag in the long line he had procured.

 

He hung it from the hook, giving it a half-dozen solid punches before catching the swaying bag, leaning his forehead against it.

 

He still couldn’t wrap his brain around what had happened at the graveyard. Yeah, he had dreamt of Bucky, both before and after he crashed into the ice. He’d smell a certain brand of cologne or hear a laugh that was similar in pitch or see one of Bucky’s favorite books on display at Barnes and Noble and have to pause for a moment, getting a tight rein on his emotions, before moving forward.

 

But, Steve couldn’t figure out why his brain had thought of this broken, scared Bucky. Screaming about his arm and how he’d let Steve die when it was obvious to anyone who had heard their story that it was, in fact Steve who had let Bucky die.

 

Steve sighed, pushing away the punching bag before heading to his tablet, which was still blaring “Killing in the Name of.” Turning the volume down (but not off. God the last thing he needed right now was silence) Steve pulled up some old SHIELD files, vaguely remembering when Natasha, on a rare occasion when she had let her guard down and gotten tipsy over at Steve’s apartment, had told him about the time she was shot by the “World’s Deadliest Assassin.”

 

He seemed to remember something about a metal arm (or maybe it was a hand, Steve wasn’t a hundred percent sure.)

 

Steve went through the backlog of Natasha’s old missions, finally landing on the mission he was looking for: Winter Soldier, the ghost story, the assassin with a left arm made of metal. After Natasha was shot through and her assignment killed, Fury, knowing anyone who could best his toughest agent was a threat, made it a point to learn all he could about the Winter Soldier.

 

Because knowledge, of course, is power.

 

So, Fury assembled a task force. They interrogated every HYDRA agent they captured, ransacked base after base, going through hardcopies and computers, taking note of anything that referenced the Winter Soldier.

 

What they had discovered was rather minimal, given the depth of most SHEILD files. Yet, it had enough information to begin forming a profile, though no picture had ever been found.

 

Steve pulled up the dossier on the Winter Soldier scrolling through page after page.

 

The man had been active since the early 50s, or at least someone had held the title since then. There was a list of some of his known kills, but Fury believed there to be at least a dozen or two more.

 

The way they spoke about the man was disturbing to say the least. The files or interviewees always referred to him as “it” or “the asset” or “subject.” And the things he was put through?

 

It turns out the arm and shoulder were completely metal, a handful of scans from the original procedure proved. (Steve couldn’t help but think that it sounded like something out of the futuristic sci-fi novels that Bucky loved so much.)

 

One document referred to some medical treatment they had subjected him to. The Soldier was apparently able to heal at a rate that rivaled Steve’s own accelerated healing. One document noted that HYDRA had cut the man again and again to test how quickly and how well the skin would mend.

 

However, it noted that old scars, such as the one on the Soldier’s chin, remained.

 

And Steve quickly swiped to the next page, trying to stem the flow of memories of a beautiful brunet with a small scar on his chin from when he fell during a pickup game of baseball.

 

An incident was cited from back in the early 70s that, while on a mission in Atlanta during the 4th of July weekend, the soldier had abandoned his assignment, disappearing without a trace. He was tracked down a week later in New York City, where he was “reprogrammed” (whatever that meant) and put in “stasis.” The interviewee said the asset’s handler thought the fireworks had been what had set him off.

 

Despite himself and the horrors that he was reading, Steve couldn’t help but smile at the memories of him and Bucky sneaking onto their apartment complex’s roof on the 4th of July, cuddling under a blanket, while Bucky jokingly whispered into Steve’s ear that he got him a fireworks show for his birthday.

 

Before he shipped out Bucky had promised that, no matter what, he’d make it home to Steve by his next birthday so they could watch the fireworks together.

 

Steve froze, staring at the device in his hand before he started frantically flipping through the items again.

 

The scar, the voice in his head screaming about a metal arm. Fuck, they had even located the Soldier in Brooklyn when he went AWOL.

 

Steve was on his feet, bag slung over his shoulder, cell phone to his ear as he exited the gym, opening the door so hurriedly his hand left a dent in the wall.

 

* * *

 

Steve paced in front of Sam and Natasha.

 

“Wait, so you’re telling me that you heard your dead soulmate in your head, and now you think he’s the Winter Soldier?” Natasha asked, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised slightly.

 

Sam raised up an arm, halting conversation. “No, no no no. We aren’t even there yet. Let’s rewind to the point where you had a soulmate who died and you didn’t tell us?”

 

“Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you.” Steve sputtered to a stop when Sam gave him an unimpressed look. “It isn’t! I just...I lost Bucky barely a week before I went into the ice. And I’ve been here for, what, five months? To you guys, he’s been dead and gone for 70 years, but for me? It’s not even been six months. I wasn’t ready to…if I told you...”

 

“If you talked about it, it’d be real.” Sam finished for him.

 

Steve nodded. “Hell, there’s part of me that keeps expecting to wake up skinny and asthmatic back in our bed in Brooklyn. And realize this has all just been a really, _really_ fucked up dream.”

 

“I thought you had been seeing someone to help you adjust to the future?” Sam looked away briefly, an inquisitive look on his face. “Wait, does your therapist even _know_ about Bucky?”

 

“Of course, Sam. He’s on a display at the Smithsonian.”

 

“No, I mean that he was your soulmate.”

 

Steve remained silent, looking away.

 

“Dammit, Steve. You aren’t going to get the help you need if you don’t open up. Losing a soulmate is traumatizing-”

 

“You think I don’t know that!” Steve snapped, voice raising to a volume and pitch that caused the other two to instinctively lean away.  “I watched Bucky fall. I couldn’t reach far enough. I have to deal with that every day, and it’s so quiet I just want to scream so I can fucking hear something. You don’t get it, so don’t lecture me about traumatizing.”

 

Natasha rested a hand on Steve’s forearm, pulling him back to himself as Sam flinched back. Because, yeah, it was common knowledge the former pararescue hadn’t found his soulmate yet, but he didn’t need it thrown in his face like that. Didn’t need to be reminded that the majority of the world saw him as broken and pitiful.

 

“Low blow, man.” Sam commented tersely as he crossed his arms and glared at the blond.

 

Steve’s eyes grew wide. “Fuck, Sam. I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t gotta act like that. We’re just trying to help.” Sam added.

 

“I know. Shit, I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” The pararescue waved the blond off as he started to ramble, knowing it’d be counterproductive to the conversation at hand. Steve slumped down into the closest chair. “This wasn’t - I’m not going crazy. I have been longing to hear Bucky’s voice every damn day since he fell. It wouldn’t - this was real, okay? It was real.”

 

“And why wouldn’t Bucky reach out until now? And why would he be working for HYDRA.” Natasha pressed.

 

Steve hung his head into his hands. “I don’t know. But I don’t think he… he sounded so fucking scared. The last time I heard him that scared was when I wound up in the hospital with pneumonia. Doctors didn’t think I would make it and Bucky wasn’t allowed to visit me because he wasn’t family.” Tears fell through Steve’s fingers and to the carpet below as he remembered again Bucky's poignant screaming in this century . “He was scared and screaming about his arm, about how I wouldn’t want him anymore.”

 

Sam sighed, leaning forward. “Steve, man. I know you want him to be out there. But,I think this is you projecting your guilt over Bucky’s death. Like you said, it’s not been all that long since you lost him. This could just be a new stage of grief. Lots of therapist report their patients think they hear their dead soulmates in the first couple of years after losing them.”

 

“We should look into it.” The three occupants turned to see Clint Barton, adorned in a purple hoodie (that, oddly enough, matched the hue of his multiple bruises) leaning against the doorframe, a mug (purple, of course) of coffee in his hand.

 

Sam groaned, flopping against the back of the couch. “Not you too.”

 

“Look, he’s lying, he’s crazy, or he’s telling the truth. We know Cap doesn’t lie, and he really doesn’t act any less sane than the rest of us, so that points to him telling the truth.” Clint shrugged. “Diggory logic.”

 

“Digory logic?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah. Diggory Kirke from the Chronicles of Narnia.”

 

Sam looked surprised. “ _You_ read the Chronicles of Narnia?”

 

“Fuck you, Wilson. I read.” Clint flicked a pencil at Sam, the erase hitting him square in the forehead, causing him to let out an involuntary squeak, before the archer continued. “Seriously, though, why couldn’t it be true? We’ve fought gods and aliens. A 90-something-year-old assassin wouldn’t exactly be out of our wheelhouse.”

 

Steve looked like he could cry. “You’ll help me?”

 

“Yeah, Cap. Of course.”

 

Steve was out of the seat, arms around Clint in a bone-crushing hug before the archer could even blink, muttering a quiet “thank you.”

 

Clint pouted as some coffee sloshed out of his mug and onto the floor. “Aw, coffee. No.” He muttered, before setting the mug down on a nearby table and hugging Steve back.

 

Clint looked at Natasha, the two having a silent conversation across their bond. Finally, the redhead nodded. “We both will.”

 

“Nat, come on.” Sam argued, clearly still skeptical about Bucky being alive.

 

Natasha shrugged. “What’s the worst that happens? If Steve’s right, we find Bucky. If he isn’t, then we’ve taken down a hell of a lot of bad guys while looking.”

 

“Look, Steve.” Sam said, turning to the blond, eyes soft and sad. “I want to be able to give you your soulmate back, man. I do. God knows you deserve something good after all the shit you’ve had to wade through. But, if we fall down this rabbit hole and there’s nothing at the end…” The pararescue let his voice trail off, knowing he didn’t have to explain how badly that’d hurt Steve.

 

“Then he’ll have us.” Clint stepped forward, patting the blond’s shoulder and offering him a soft smile.

 

Sam looked at the three, studying them each intently before he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering about how he always gets dragged into other people’s messes. Finally, he looked up. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

 

“Find out where Bucky is and go get him,” Steve stated plainly, causing Sam to roll his eyes, before looking at the other two in the room.

 

“Okay, now that the dumbass Gryffindor’s given us nothing, do you guys have any suggestions?”

 

“I got a few contacts I can lean on.” Natasha offered. “Get some ears to the ground so we can find a HYDRA stronghold. Go in and get some people to talk and follow the breadcrumbs.”

 

“What if they won’t talk?” Steve asked, worried the plan sounded too easy.

 

Natasha smiled, though it could have been mistaken for a baring of teeth. “Oh, they’ll talk. Trust me.”

 

Clint took another sip of coffee. “I don’t really want to get the kids involved, but if Nat’s leads don’t go anywhere, I’ll see if Kate can talk to Billy or.. Ugh, Kid Loki.” The archer looked as though he were holding back a gag at the latter’s name. “Maybe some of their voodoo magic mojo can help us out.”

 

Sam sighed. “I can go ask Maria-”

 

“No!” Clint and Natasha both snapped off together.

 

Sam took a step back, hands up. “Um…”

 

“Fury would shut this down before we could even blink. He knew we were tracking the Winter Soldier and he’d order me to put an arrow through his eye.” Clint explained, unable to dodge the elbow Natasha sent into his stomach. He turned to glare at her, but froze as he saw the pale look on Steve’s face.

 

“Clint, you can’t-”

 

“Easy, Cap. That’s why we’re not telling the pirate. If the Soldier is your boy, ain’t no way I’m putting an arrow in him.” He paused, considering. He opened his mouth to finish his thought, but snapped his jaw shut abruptly. He looked at a glaring Natasha, shrugging in an innocent “my bad” manner.

 

“What do you need me to do?” Sam asked.

 

“Wait for our call. Make sure this one doesn’t do anything reckless.” Natasha offered.

 

“Nothing reck-” Sam sputtered. “Are you kidding me? He did five reckless things already today and we haven’t even had lunch yet!”

 

The redhead rolled her eyes, ignoring Sam’s indignation as she turned to the supersoldier. “Steve, I need you to try to reach out to Bucky again. Don’t tell him anything that could compromise us.”

 

“Bucky wouldn’t-”

 

“Steve, if this is Bucky, he’s been held by HYDRA for seventy years. We don’t know what he’s capable of. I know you want to trust him, but we don’t know if we can yet.”

 

Steve sighed, seeing her point, though he didn’t like it. “What should I tell him then?”

 

“You said he didn’t believe you. Try to convince him you’re real. If he’s really breaking down his programming, then we could have a person on the inside. If he can tell us where they’re holding him, it’d make bringing him in a lot easier.”

 

“I’m not-” Steve took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, looking every bit the commander the world always saw him as. “I’m not bringing him in, I’m bringing him _home.”_

 

“Steve-” the redhead started, though the Captain sharply cut her off.

 

“He’s _not_ going into custody.”

 

“And what if he’s a threat? What if he’s been working for HYDRA of his own free will? What if they’ve brainwashed him and the programming runs so deep he’s a danger to everyone he’s in a room with?” she pressed.

 

Steve glared for a moment, before his features softened, his worry for Bucky once more palpable. “Promise me you won’t let Fury kill him.”  

 

“We won’t.” Clint added, a rare moment of seriousness from the archer, before he continued, much lighter. “And you know who else won’t let it happen? Phil - Founder of the Bucky Barnes Appreciation Club - Coulson. He’s a bigger fanboy of Bucky than he is of you.”

 

Steve studied the three in the room before he looked at Natasha. “Okay.”

 

Natasha’s mouth formed a firm line before she gave a curt nod. The plan was made. Nothing remained except to see it through.

 

* * *

 

You’re going to love Sam. Well, honestly, you two will probably fight like cats and dogs, but he’s a good guy. You’ll love giving him a hard time. And Nat is brilliant. She’s a lot like Peggy. I think you’ll catch on like a house on fire. And Clint has already said he’s taking you to the firing range so he can prove he’s the better shot. 

 

Steve sat in the chair, Sam watching him, concerned, out of the corner of his eye. Steve kept going though. Bucky hadn’t thought Steve was real. So, he would keep reaching out, keep trying to talk to Bucky, until he got through to the other man.

 

And Tolkien made sequels to the Hobbit. When I get you home, we’ll marathon the movies. I haven’t seen them yet, but Clint says they’re great. 

 

_Steve?_

 

Steve sat up straighter in his chair. Sam himself followed suit, watching the blond with heightened concern.  Bucky. Thank God. 

 

_No. No no no no no._

 

Calm down. It’s alright. I’m real. We’ll come get you. Just stay calm for me, okay? 

 

_You’re dead. You - fuck. I can’t._

 

And that’s when the screaming started.

 

Steve’s face must have reflected the panic and grief he was feeling, because Sam was soon kneeling in front of his chair, trying to get his attention.

 

Steve closed his eyes, doing his best to tune Sam out, as he continued his attempts to reach Bucky.

 

Baby, please. Calm down. Tell me where you are. I can’t-I can’t help you if you don’t calm down. Please.  The screams were still filtering through.  Dammit, Buck. Listen to me. 

 

Bucky’s screams were soon interrupted by his pleading. _No, no. I’ll be good. Please, not the chair. Don’t let them - Stevie, don’t let them take you away again._

 

Bucky? What’s going on?  Steve was gripping the chair so tightly the armrest cracked beneath his grasp.

 

_They’re going to wipe me again. I don’t - I’ll forget you again._

 

No one is going to make you forget me again. Just tell me where you are. I’ll come for you. 

 

_No. No no no no no no. Stop. Don’t touch me. Don’t take him away again. Please!_

 

Bucky! 

 

Steve continued to hear Bucky beg and plead, both with him (and dammit, why couldn’t he understand that Steve was real) and whomever was harming him (and Steve was going to murder each and every single one of them when given the chance).

 

However, Steve was not prepared for the blood curdling screams of agony and pain that soon tore through the bond. The blond grabbed his head, listing forward in his chair, the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground was Sam’s strong grip.

 

* * *

 

After the third time Steve reached out to Bucky and the older man freaked out, causing him to be “wiped” (And, God, those screams would haunt Steve until he died), the blond stopped trying to contact his soulmate.

 

It was the most painful thing he had ever done, cutting himself off from Bucky once more, letting the silence overtake every moment of his day (which, given his inability to sleep, were growing longer and longer.)

 

God bless Sam, he tried to help. Tried to keep Steve busy and hopeful, but there was only so much the former pararescue could do. Sam had a life - family, a job, other friends - and couldn’t be with Steve every hour of every day, couldn’t fill every minute with noise (though he truly tried and Steve wasn’t sure what he’d done to ever deserve a friend as wonderful as Sam Wilson).  

 

But optimism thinned without anything to feed it.

 

So, Steve took to working himself into exhaustion. Searching high and low for any sign of HYDRA, training harder than ever before so that, when the time came, he’d be able to get Bucky free (and he tried not to let his mind travel to the dark places where he wondered if Bucky was even still alive…)

 

It was dark thoughts like that, coupled with the guilt, that led the Captain out on an excessively long run. He was on his fifteenth lap around Central Park, Flogging Molly blaring in his ear, no signs of slowing down, when he heard the faint _Steve_ bounce around his mind.

 

He tripped over his feet, landing hard on the path below him. He paid no mind to the scrapes on his knees and palms that would no doubt heal within the hour.

 

Bucky? 

 

_Tell me you’re real, Steve. Please, just...tell me this isn’t them fucking with my head again._

 

I’m real, Buck. I’m alive.  Steve scrambled over to a nearby tree sitting heavily against it, the tears already falling down his cheeks.  Fuck, it’s so good to hear your voice. 

 

_Oh, God. You’re - I thought it was a different Cap, but the kid - and you - Steve._

 

Yeah, Baby. I’m here.  He couldn’t stop the sob that made its way across their bond.  I love you. 

 

_You shouldn’t. Stevie. The things I’ve done-_

 

Hey!  Steve cut off sternly.  I’ve heard them hurt you, Bucky. I know they made you do all that stuff. It wasn’t your fault. 

 

_I still did it._

 

We can hash this out when you’re safe. Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you right now, okay? Steve was already back to his feet, phone in his hand as he texted Nat, Sam, and Clint.

 

_There’s too many of them; they’d kill you._

 

I have a team. We can take them. Now tell me where you are. 

 

 _I’m not sure. They’ve kept me at this base since I started malfunctioning._ And Steve had to hold back yelling that Bucky wasn’t a machine, that people don’t malfunction.

 

Okay, that’s fine. I’ll find you. Just...do what they say. Do whatever you have to do to make them think you’re still under their control. 

 

_I can’t do that, Steve._

 

Steve nearly snapped at that, but reined in his emotions as he reached his car.  Just...do it for me. Please. I can’t listen to them hurt you again. 

 

 _They have a kid._ And Steve could hear the regret in Bucky’s voice, though it didn’t stop the blond’s heart from jumping into his throat.

 

Fuck. 

 

_They walked him by. He had on a shirt with your shield and some other heroes. Snapped me out of the programming I guess. I overheard my handler. They’re going to make me torture him so they can send the video to his parents._

 

Bucky…  Steve sobbed, pulling at his hair as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car, never having felt so helpless in his life.

 

 _You know I can’t do this, doll. Not while I’m in control._ Steve could feel the tension in Bucky’s words as he projected across the bond. _Shit, they’re here._

 

Steve could do nothing but sob across the bond, fearing that he was about to listen to Bucky die once more.

 

_Steve. Stevie. You’ve gotta come find this kid, okay? He don’t deserve the shit HYDRA wants to do to him. You have to bring him home._

 

I’m going to bring you both home.  Steve argued.  You just stay alive until I can get to you. 

 

_I don’t know if I-_

 

Dammit, Barnes, this isn’t up for negotiation. You. Stay. Alive. I’m going to find you. 

 

A pause, and Steve was worried he had heard his last words from Bucky, when.

 

_I love you. So much._

 

I love you, too. And I’ll tell you again tomorrow, and the day after that. And on our wedding day in front of our friends, and- 

 

_Wedding day?_

 

Yeah, Buck. Two fellas can get married now. 

 

_Fuck, really?_

 

Really. I’m thinking ours will be small, in a church. We’ll wear our dress blues. 

 

_Just like you to make plans before you even pop the question._

 

I’ll propose after I get you out of there. 

 

 _Better make it worthwhile, Rogers. Been waiting eighty years for you to make an honest man out of me._ A pause. _Alright, Stevie. I’m looking at the kid. Brown hair, green eyes. Looks like he’s about seven or eight. He has a Stonecreek Prep Academy uniform on. Colors are red, black, and yellow._

 

Steve let out a relieved breath, grateful Bucky had the presence of mind to relay any information that might help Steve track him down.  Alright, Buck. I’ll track you both down. Stay. Alive. I love you. I’ll see you soon. 

 

_Love you too, Stevie._

* * *

 

The room was tense, arguments having broken out after Steve had assembled the team. Carol, Tony, Rhodey wanted to know why they weren’t included in the search for Bucky and not truly believing he was alive, while Thor and Bruce understood Steve’s desire to keep this discreet.

 

It finally came to a head when Steve screamed at the group that they could all yell at him later, but right now they needed to focus on finding Bucky. Sam had then convinced Steve to sit out of the way, with Tony swearing that while he was “pissed Capsicle is keeping secrets from me, his best friend,” (he ignored Sam’s injection of “I’m his best friend, goatee.”) he wouldn’t rest until he found Bucky.

 

So, Steve rattled off the information Bucky had given him and went to the farthest corner of the room. He leaned against the wall, sliding heavily down it as he hung his head in his hands.

 

He remained that way for a long few moments before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Raising his head, he saw Thor squatting beside him, holding a steaming mug in his free hand.

 

“Dr. Banner said this might make you feel better.” He offered the drink with a kind grin.

 

Steve took the mug with a weak smile and small nod.

 

“We shall find your soulmate, Captain.” Thor vowed. “And lay waste to those who have done him harm.”

 

Steve felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude toward his teammates. How they had rallied behind Steve, dropping anything and everything to help him bring his soulmate in from the cold. They didn’t know Bucky, but yet here they were. And the Captain knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would never be able to thank them enough.

 

“Thank you, Thor.”

 

“Yo, Cap. I think we got something.” Tony called from the computer.

  
Steve was on his feet in an instant, tea left on the floor beside him, as he hurried to his teammate.

 

* * *

 

The battle, honestly, wasn’t much of a battle.

 

HYDRA got cocky, got arrogant. Thought their base was well under the radar.

  
So, they were unprepared for Steve and the Avengers raining fury down upon them. The majority, so brainwashed by HYDRA they thought they had to fight until the bitter end, giving the Avengers no choice but to put them down.

 

And Steve, knowing he’d feel guilty about it later, couldn’t bring himself to care, couldn’t bring himself to find sympathy. He had heard these people wipe Bucky, force him into the chair against his will, trying to take out all the little quirks and all the precious memories that made Bucky, Bucky.

 

So, Steve was glad they fought back. Glad he had an excuse to put them out of commission and ensure himself that they would never hurt Bucky again.

 

He hurried farther and farther into the base, checking each room with quick efficiency, all the while screaming  Bucky! Baby, tell me where you are  in his head, hoping his lover would answer.

 

He didn’t, which only added to Steve’s anxiety and dread that Bucky had been taken from him once more, only this time would prove to be more permanent.

 

However, nothing from his nightmares or his fears could have prepared him for turning into the next lab and seeing his love, his soulmate, his Bucky, barely visible through the frost of the window on a cryochamber.

 

“Bucky!” he screamed, moving forward, his sole focus to rip the hinges off the pod and get Bucky free.

 

He barely registered the “Jesus Christ, stop him!” from the doorway before strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him back.

 

“No, no! Let me go! Let me - BUCKY! I won’t let you take him away again.”

 

“Easy Cap.” Tony flew up beside him, faceplate lifted up. “No one’s taking him away. But you can’t just rip him out of there.”

 

“The hell I can’t. Let me go!”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Rogers. Calm down.” He vaguely recognized it was Carol talking, her arms tightening around him.

 

“He’s in cryosleep, Steve. You rip him out of there without acclimating his body properly and it could kill him.” Tony explained, his voice more soothing than the team had ever heard it. “Let me and Bruce look at the files. We’ll find a way to wake him up without hurting him.”

 

“But-”

 

“Steve,” Tony urged, resting a metal plated hand on the Captain’s shoulder. “I won’t rest until he’s out of there, okay? Let me help him.”

 

Steve slumped in Carol’s arms, taking a mournful look at Bucky’s face as he resigned himself to more silence.

 

* * *

 

Steve waited by Bucky’s side from the moment he arrived at the med bay in Avengers tower. Thankfully, Dr. Helen Cho took sympathy on the older man, and, once Tony and Bruce had Bucky free of the pod, instructed her team to allow Steve access at all times.

 

When Bucky was first removed from the chamber, he was a sickly blue that made the blond’s stomach churn. But, Steve waited by his bedside, occasionally, holding Bucky’s hand in silence, but more often than not, he kept a constant litany of a one-sided conversation going across the bond.

 

He couldn’t be sure if HYDRA had wiped Bucky again. If Bucky could hear him or even knew who he was. But, if his soulmate could hear him, he wanted to give Bucky a reason to fight back to the surface, to wake up.

 

The team visited. Carol and Rhodey, a pair of soulmates themselves, brought flowers and bright balloons to liven up the room. They sat with Steve in silence, both having more experience waiting by their soulmates bedside than they were comfortable with.

 

Thor brought Steve an old book full of Asgardian fairy tales, saying Bucky might appreciate hearing the unfamiliar stories. Bruce brought tea, subtly sliding the business card of a therapist on the table as he left.

 

Nat would merely sit in the chair beside Steve, silently offering her support. Clint brought a purple blanket and pillow for Steve, telling the blond he should at least try to sleep. Steve wanted to ask Clint, whom had been brainwashed himself, how to help Bucky, but couldn’t bring himself to drudge up the pain from the archer’s past.

 

It took Sam a good twenty-four hours to visit.  “I’m sorry I fought you so much on this.” The winged hero muttered, looking guilty. “I-”

 

“You were trying to protect me, Sam. From myself, from more grief.” Steve gave him a warm smile, before turning back to Bucky, eyes softening even more. “I get it. _He’ll_ get it. Hell, when I tell him how you’ve been looking out for my dumb ass, he’ll probably insist on buying you a beer.”

 

Sam laughed, loud and carefree. “A beer? Steve, after all the shit you’ve pulled, he’d owe me at least a keg. _At least_.”

 

Tony, however, was the one who surprised him most. He merely handed Steve a small, velvet box.

 

Steve opened it curiously, and, seeing the engagement ring, looked at the inventor, startled.

 

“Uh, Tony.” Steve scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m flattered and all, but-”

 

“Ew, gross. That’d be like, kissing my geriatric uncle. No.” Tony made a gagging noise. “No, I - I you were talking outloud, to the pod, on the way home. And I heard you mentioning something about getting married.” The inventor shuffled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I, uh, had Jarvis hack your internet history and found a few of the designs you had been eyeing. And I knew Barnes would need one made special, because of the arm, and I just thought, that you know, you might want the ring for when he wakes up?” Tony rambled. “If not, it’s fine. I can - “

 

Steve was out of the chair, hugging the shorter man before he could blink. “Tony, I-  Thank you.”

 

Tony patted Steve’s back uncomfortably. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Capiscle. I’m just trying to beat out Wilson so I can be the best man.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Bucky remembered after going into the room (he had tried to fight off HYDRA, but the moment fucking Rumlow put a gun to the kid’s head, he had froze, allowing one of the other lowlives to hit him with the taser that was specially designed to incapacitate him) was painful, biting cold.

 

And he thought that was the end. Which was why it was a pleasant surprise to wake-up in a bed far softer than anything he had ever felt, a gentle hand carding through his hair.

 

He cracked his eyes open to see Steve sitting beside him, his own eyes wet and bloodshot. He looked exhausted and heartbroken, but was still the best sight Bucky had seen in decades.

 

Bucky quickly took to scanning the room, making sure that it was safe for Steve. The windows were a welcome change to the norm. Bucky hadn’t stayed in a room that allowed the sunshine to peak inside in over 70 years. In a chair in the corner was another blond man, wearing a purple hoodie, an array of bruises and bandaids on his face, snoring softly. Somewhere through all the memories and assignments HYDRA had erased, his mind supplied the man was Clint Barton: AKA Hawkeye.

 

Bucky quickly assessed him to determine his threat level, but given the man’s socked feet and slumber, he concluded the man was Steve’s friend and not an enemy.

 

He looked back to Steve. The blond’s gaze was glued to Bucky’s chest, no doubt watching it rise and fall, assuring himself his soulmate was alive.

 

_Stevie._

 

Steve’s eyes snapped up to meet his, startled at first, before his features softened into the smile he had always reserved for Bucky and Bucky alone.

 

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Steve murmured, raising Bucky’s flesh hand to lay a gentle kiss on the knuckles.

 

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but a terrible, gross churning started in his gut, working its way up his throat at an alarming rate.

 

_Sick_

 

Steve didn’t even hesitate, reaching over and thrusting a garbage can in front of Bucky’s face, mere seconds before Bucky, eyes squeezed shut, started vomiting into the container.

 

Fuck.  Steve was so panicked and terrified he was projecting across the bond without meaning to. “Dr. Cho!” He screamed, before gathering Bucky’s hair at the back of his neck, the gentleness of his movements at odds with the panicked thoughts.  No, this isn’t happening. They said he was fine. I’m not losing him again. No no no no. 

 

Bucky cracked his eyes open, wondering why Steve, who seemed resolutely prepared for Bucky’s being sick, was suddenly out of his mind with worry. However, as soon as he caught sight of the contents of the bucket, he understood. Hell, if it had been Steve puking up the violent, grey sludge, he’d have been panicking too.

 

The door swung open and a petite Korean woman in a lab coat, hurried inside. She was  followed by a tall woman with short blonde hair, who carried herself with an aura of power and authority. Dr. Helen Cho and Carol Danvers. Bucky vaguely recognized them from the files HYDRA had on them.

 

Filing the information away, Bucky tried to get Steve’s attention, to say his name and let him know he was okay, but when he opened his mouth, even more sludge came out.

 

Steve looked at the doctor, panicked. “You said he was fine! This isn’t fine! He-”

 

_Stevie._

 

Steve’s gaze shot over to Bucky, who had found a brief respite from the vomiting though he still didn’t dare to open his mouth again.

 

_I’m okay. This happens every time._

 

Bucky had to look away from the horror that played across Steve’s features. “Every time? This-” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his soulmate turn look over at Dr. Cho, a hint of hysteria still coloring everything. “He says this happens every time. Is he-”

 

The doctor moved forward, braving the disgusting vomit bucket to hold a pinlight to Bucky’s eyes, examining them both for a brief moment before Bucky started puking again.

 

“He’s okay, Captain.” Dr. Cho’s voice was gentle, but sure, not wanting the blond to work himself up any more than he already had. “His vitals are strong and his pupils are dilating. I didn’t account for the fact they’d have to,” her professional persona briefly cracked as she winced, “prep his organs so they wouldn’t be damaged in the flash freeze. His body’s getting rid of the chemicals they used.”

 

“You’re sure he’s okay?” Steve asked, still holding back Bucky’s hair as he continued to expel the chemicals from his body.

 

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair before continuing. “But, to my knowledge, no one else has been successfully woken from cryofreeze before. And tests on it would be...inhumane, so there aren’t any studies to consult. Sergeant Barnes is our best resource with this. We just have to keep monitoring his vitals and he needs to let us know if anything out of the ordinary happens.”

 

Steve nodded, looking back to Bucky, who finally seemed to reach a stopping point on the puking. He ran a hand through the brunet’s hair. “You sure this is normal?”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

What can I do to help? 

 

_Don’t leave me.This is already so much better than being left to puke all over myself in a cell._

 

And Bucky had to look away at the open heartbreak that was playing across Steve’s face.

 

“Bucky,” Steve whimpered, the anguish clear in his voice.

 

 _Hey._ Bucky broke in, taking his flesh hand (there was no way he was touching Steve with his metal arm) from the far-side of the bucket, reaching across his body to grab Steve’s hand. _I’ll be alright. You saved me. I’m safe._

 

Steve smiled softly, though his eyes were glossy with unshed tears. He brought Bucky’s hand to his lips, kissing his palm before he lowered the hand back to Bucky’s chest. He gently took the wastebasket and put it beside the bed, out of both his and Bucky’s sight, but within arms’ reach if Bucky needed it again.

 

I’m sorry. Steve offered earnestly, his fingers lacing with Bucky’s metal ones. The brunet tried to jerk the HYDRA-gifted hand away, but Steve held fast, shaking his head.  I don’t care, Buck. 

 

_But-_

 

No. I lost you for seventy years Bucky. And now you’re alive and _safe._ And this,  Steve lifted up Bucky’s hand to kiss each and every knuckle, before bringing it up to cup his own face.  This doesn’t bother me, Bucky. Never will. 

 

And God, how badly Bucky wanted to believe that it was that easy. That Steve could ignore everything terrible and awful that Bucky had done and endured. Could look past it and see a bright side of Bucky that even he himself wasn’t sure still existed. But Steve still believed in him, and as much as Bucky wanted to hold him tight and never let him go, the side of him that would lay down his life for the blond wanted to push him as far away as he could before he tained him.

 

_But I’ve killed people._

 

Buck, I was a captain in the fucking Army. I’ve filled plenty of graves myself, and _I_ had a choice in it. You didn’t. I don’t blame you. 

 

_But, if you wanted someone better-_

 

“Stop.” Steve broke through the silence, his voice stern. “It’s just been you since we were eight. That ain’t changing, jerk.”

 

“Punk.” Bucky muttered, his voice raspy and hoarse, unable to believe that Steve could still love him after all this time.

 

He heard the blond’s breath hitch in his throat before Steve leant forward, planting an oh so gentle kiss on his soulmates forehead before pulling him tightly against his chest. He rested his check atop Bucky’s head, and the former assassin didn’t need the help of the bond to know that Steve had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

 

That was fine with Bucky. He felt safe and warm and whole for the first time in 70 years. Though, he could no longer ignore the scratchiness of his throat, raspily asking “water?”

 

He felt Steve flinch against him.

 

Shit, sorry. I should have- 

 

 _Shuddup, punk. I’m fine._ He gave Steve a small smile before nudging his nose against the blond’s chest, trying to distract him from his unnecessary guilt. He didn’t want Steve to know how HYDRA had held him down and shoved a tube down his throat, forcing the chemicals into his body against his will. Being none too gentle, the damage to his throat had been significant, and while it would heal, that, coupled with the lack of use and flash freeze, would cause his voice to maintain a shattered quality, at least for a bit.

 

“I gotcha.” Clint said, grabbing a glass of water from the table and handing it to Bucky.

 

The brunet tried to grab the glass, but his motor functions had yet to reestablish and he couldn’t get a solid grip on it. Steve rested a hand over Bucky’s, giving him a reassuring smile before taking the glass, tilting it carefully to Bucky’s mouth.

 

Bucky drank slowly, remembering from his time after Zola (the first time Steve saved him. God, Steve was always saving him) how he had tried to chug the water Steve had found for him. Rather than quench his thirst, it made him vomit, causing even more harm to his damaged body.

 

Steve pulled the cup away, wiping away the bit of water that had wound up on Bucky’s chin.

 

God, I love you. 

 

_Still?_

 

Steve placed a gentle kiss to Bucky’s forehead. Still.

 

“Here.” Steve whispered quietly, reaching under his shirt and pulling the chain up over his neck. Quickly unclasping it, he gently slid a ring free from where it was resting against his dogtags.

 

“I figured since I promised you a proposal, I should probably make this official.” With the utmost care, Steve grabbed Bucky’s metal hand, kissing it before slipping the engagement ring on.

  
“Stark made it special.” Steve explained, eyes transfixed on the ring that neither he nor Bucky thought they’d be able to wear. “It won’t slip off the metal or scratch up your arm or anything.”

 

“Where’s yours?” Bucky asked quietly, lacing his right hand with Steve’s left, gaze dropping to the bare ring finger. “People should...they should _know_...that you, that we’re-” Because, while Bucky didn’t think he deserved Steve, he had always been a selfish, selfish man. And if Steve was willing to be with him, then he wanted the world to know that this stubborn, reckless, kind, beautiful man was his.

 

Steve nodded, smiling brightly and running a hand through Bucky’s hair. “Once you’re feeling up to it, we can go to the jeweler and get me one, okay?”

 

Bucky froze, eyes wide and darting around the room, reassessing. “I…”

 

“Buck?” Steve’s voice was strained with concern.

 

“You’re not going to lock me up? I...I can leave with you?

 

The painful, pitiful sound Steve made echoed through the room. He quickly pulled Bucky back into his arms.“No one is locking you up ever again. You can leave whenever you want.”

 

“Steve…” Carol started warningly, unprepared for the look of pure aggression the blond sent over his shoulder.

 

“ _Whenever_ he wants.”

 

“And what if he has a panic attack at Starbucks? He could hurt himself or someone else.” Though her tone was determined, she looked regretful. “I understand he’s your soulmate, but he’s dangerous.”

 

“So are you. So am I. We are all. So, unless you’re planning on locking us all up in some cell-”

 

“Jesus, Steve. I'm not a monster. No one wants to put him in a cell. I just think it'd be in everyone's best interest for him to stay in the tower so JARVIS can monitor him."

 

“Doesn’t matter.You’re not locking him up.”

 

“He-”

 

“Danvers.” Clint cut in from where he had perched himself on the back of the chair by the window. “This ain’t a fight you’re gonna win. Steve won’t let you lock lover boy up after what he’s gone through. Hell, me and Nat won’t let you lock him up after what he’s gone through.”

 

Carol still looked unconvinced.

 

“I don’t-” Bucky broke in, voice solid. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I never did.” There were few things the brunet was certain of anymore, but that was one of them.

 

Carol sighed, features softening as she took the pair in. “Will you at least agree until we get the okay from our psych department that someone from the team stays with you when you leave the tower? I don’t want anyone to get hurt, including you. If something triggers you or HYDRA sends anyone after you, you shouldn’t be alone.”

 

Steve’s hand tightened around Bucky’s before the latter nodded.

 

Carol nodded, a genuine smile gracing her face. “Thank you. Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes. Soon as Doctor Cho okays you to drink, we’re getting some whiskey and you’re going to tell me all the embarrassing stories you have on Rogers here.

 

She looked at the archer, nodding her head toward the door. “Come on, Barton. Fury wants to yell at you some more for not telling him you were tracking the Winter Soldier.”

 

Barton laughed, standing up from his chair as he pushed it against the wall. “Ha ha. Nope.” He gave Rogers and Barnes a mock salute. “Caw caw, motherfuckers.”

 

With that, Barton jumped on the chair, pushing himself up into the air vent as he disappeared inside, his laughter slowly getting further and further away.

 

“Holy shit.” Barnes whispered. “He’s like Dum Dum 2.0.”

 

“Just wait until you meet Fury.” Steve muttered back. “Grumpier than Phillips ever was.”

 

Helen snapped her medical gloves off. “I’ll go with you, Carol. Fury wanted a medical report.” She smiled warmly at Steve and Bucky. “Stark’s already scanned your arm and it doesn’t look like HYDRA left us any nasty surprises. But, I’d like to keep you in the med bay for at least a few days to make sure nothing sneaks up on us.”

 

Bucky nodded his assent.

 

“Thank you. Feel free to call or send Steve to find me if you need anything.”

 

The two filed out of the room, the somber mood returning once more as Steve continued to hold Bucky, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You thought this was a cell, didn’t you?” Off Bucky’s nod, Steve’s grip tightened. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Bucky shrugged against him. “It’s...nicer? Than HYDRA. Warm. I thought…” His words trailed off.

 

_If I don’t complain, maybe they won’t freeze me again._

 

Steve gasped, a sob building from his chest before it loudly escaped. He clung to Bucky even tighter, face buried in his hair. “No one’s gonna freeze you again. No one is going to _hurt_ you again. I promise.” He pressed a kiss against the side of Bucky’s head. “And it’s not a cell, it’s just the medbay. Once you’re better, you can stay on my floor, okay?”

 

Bucky tensed slightly, frozen in place before giving a small nod. Steve, however, could read the disappointment coming off him in waves.

 

“Buck? Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve ran a hand through his hair.

 

“Nothing, I just…” Bucky swallowed. “We used to share?”

 

“Share?”

 

Bucky looked away before quietly whispering, “The bed.”

 

“The bed?” Steve’s confusion soon gave way to horror, his eyes widening in a way that would have been comical if under a different circumstance. “Wait, you think - you think I’m going to make you sleep on the _floor_!?!”

 

Bucky’s silence was answer enough.

 

“Oh, god, Sweetheart.” Steve murmured, his hands going up to bracket Bucky’s face, his forehead resting against his. “No, no. My apartment is an entire floor of the tower. You don’t - you’re never going to live like that again. I won’t let it happen. We can share my bed, or I’ll buy you your own. And I’ll stock the kitchen with whatever you want. We don’t have to worry about rations anymore. And I had Tony put in a fireplace. You won’t be hungry. Or cold. Never again.”

 

_Safe?_

 

“Yeah, Buck. We’re safe now.”

 

Bucky slumped against him, content to lean against Steve’s chest. His eyes fluttered as a yawn broke free.

 

Steve grinned, though Bucky could see the tears building in his eyes. “Go to sleep, baby.”

 

_Not tired._

 

Steve chuckled, kissing the top of Bucky’s head. “Sure, you’re not.” He hummed quietly, the vibrations and soothing sounds lulling Bucky to sleep.

 

_Love you, Stevie._

 

Love you too, Buck. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Please make sure you check out Jessie's [tumblr](http://lucidnancyboy.tumblr.com) and [instagram](http://www.instagram.com/jessielucidart/) and [xcloudychocobo](http://xcloudychocobo.tumblr.com/) on tumblr to see more fantastic art! 
> 
> Also, if you're into Star Wars, check out floatingkhoshekfloats' Star Wars fic, cause its amazing (and painful). 
> 
> Lastly, I'm thinking about writing some more in this universe, specifically Sam finding his soulmate, so maybe stay tuned?


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